Letting Go
by Ramblepedia
Summary: Kurt was seven when he learned how to ride a bike. He may have been growing up but he wasn't quite ready for his dad to let go, no matter how steady he seemed.


Warning: This is 100% sugary sweetness that is liable to make your teeth rot out.

Also known as father-son fluff because there can never be enough Burt and Kurt father-son fics in this world.

Also posted on Archive of Our Own (AO3) under the same name.

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Burt Hummel took the training wheels of his son's bike when the kid was six. That same kid had then refused to learn for one reason or another. Burt had eventually stopped pressuring him. Kurt was a stubborn boy. He'd come to his dad when he was ready.

He was starting to think Kurt never would. Then one bright sunny afternoon the boy came storming through the kitchen to grab a glass of milk for heating. Now normally that was a concoction reserved for nightmares or any time the youngest Hummel couldn't sleep. This was the middle of the afternoon. Right after school. Burt leaned against the counter as he watched his son pour himself the glass. Kurt's hands were shaking. And not just because the gallon of milk was too heavy for his scraggly arms.

"Here." Burt gave him a hand.

"I can do it myself." Yet Kurt let his hands drop to his sides. He was keeping his head down. Burt added a tiny dash of nutmeg and chocolate and put the milk in the microwave. Then he leaned his elbows on the counter so he'd look like he had an excuse to be staring at his son's face.

"Why don't you tell me what happened."

"Nothing."

"I'm not blind Kurt." The seven year old turned defiantly and crossed his arms. Burt pulled his small body into a chair and knelt down next to it. "I need to know who I need to beat up for you." Kurt cracked a little smile. That was better. The wet corners of his eyes wrinkled up in his small moment of happiness. "I can't beat them up if I don't know what happened."

"You shouldn't beat people up, it's not nice. It's 'stooping down to their level' and you're always the one who'll get in trouble when you do it."

"Who'd you hear that from?"

"Mom."

"Ah. As always, she's right. Women are always right. You'll learn that quick. As soon as they stop having cooties they become these all-knowing beings." The boy laughed now.

"Girls always have cooties."

"Even your mom?"

"Even Mom. But her cooties don't affect us because we're family."

"Well now that makes a lot of sense too. You're definitely your mother's son." Kurt nodded as he puffed up with pride. The microwave went off. Burt hurried to bring his son the drink. He hadn't had to warn Kurt to blow on it first in almost two years. "I still need to know what happened."

"...I don't get along well with the guys on the bus. They're really mean."

"What do they do?" Burt was already planning his phone call to the school. Or maybe he'd pop in himself tomorrow over an extended lunch break. He did own his shop. He could take however long a lunch break he wanted. Even if it wasn't all that professional of him. Kurt always came first though. Everyone knew that. It was one of his perks for being the owner.

Kurt sucked on his bottom lip for a moment. "They were the ones who laughed at me when I fell."

"When did-"

"Last year. On my bike." Burt remembered that. The one time he actually got his kid onto a bike, he'd fallen. Ok that was very normal. Everyone fell a few times. But some bigger kids had been riding by at that time and, well, they'd had a good laugh.

"I remember them." He would have to think harder so he could really remember them. Then he'd find out who their parents were and have a nice long talk about their sons with them. Hopefully he'd be the more intimidating guy in each scenario.

"On the bus today. They found out I can't ride still and…" He hung his head. "I want to ride."

"You want to ride?"

"I want to prove them wrong." Kurt's eyes furrowed together. He looked very determined. His hands gripped the mug.

"Are you scared?" He nodded. "But you want to do it anyway?"

"Yes." Burt kissed his head.

"I'll go get out of this monkey suit then. You finish that drink and go get your bike." Burt was fast. This was a day he'd been waiting for. He was going to teach his kid to ride a bike. Maybe next week Kurt would decide he wanted to give baseball a try. Burt could dream. Then they could go to a game together and it would be just like he always imagined. He wouldn't have to figure out the minute details of proper tea party etiquette or why anyone liked it when a movie interrupted the plot for a musical number. Seriously. Why.

That wasn't at all fair to Kurt though. Kurt liked what he liked and he had no qualms with any of it. And Kurt, so far, didn't like sports. But bicycling was a sort of sport. Maybe it could be a gateway. Something to connect the two of them together besides the blood in their veins and a name on a piece of paper and make it easier for him to pretend he deserved those 'best dad' mugs Kurt always tried to make him buy for himself when they went to the store. Of course they'd be a gift from Kurt because he was the one who spotted them and snuck them into the cart but it'd still be Burt's money that was being used.

He rushed out of the house to find Kurt weaving a ribbon through the spokes. It already had streamers on the handlebars. "Hey, don't forget a helmet."

"Just a second!" Burt ducked into the garage to grab one when his hand brushed against his old helmet. From when he was a kid. The man quickly brushed it off and made sure it was clean enough for Kurt's hair (he'd never hear the end of it if it wasn't) before heading back out. "That's not my helmet."

"No, it's mine. Or was. I'm giving it to you now. So you'll always have me protecting you. At least when you're out riding your bike." Kurt smiled up at him as he strapped the thing on. "Is it ready?"

"Yep! I just finished. What do you think?"

"I think it's very...you."

"It is." He stood and put his hands on the handlebars and started to talk.

"It's better to ride it."

"There isn't enough space here." Burt grabbed the back of it.

"Hop on." Kurt looked over at him with those giant blue eyes and it took all his power to stay strong. "I'll hold onto you, I promise. You won't fall." Reluctantly the boy obeyed.

"Don't let go."

"I won't."

"Promise me you'll never let go."

"Not until you're ready."

"And I get to tell you when I'm ready."

"Ok. Pick your feet up. We'll work on balance first." Burt jogged them up and down the street until Kurt stopped letting out tiny squeals every time the bike veered even slightly. "Put your feet on the pedals."

"You won't let go?"

"I swear I won't let go." Kurt put all his trust in Burt. It was obvious. Burt gave him all kinds of confidence that he hadn't had when they'd been up in the driveway. It was obvious in the way he held himself that he really believed he could do this with his dad by his side. In fact he was practically riding the bike on his own already. Burt's fingertips were all that touched the handlebars. Would Kurt even notice?

He pulled his hands back. Kurt didn't stop or fall. So he clapped. The boy was wobbling a bit but so far it was ok. "Attaboy!" he called out. Kurt hadn't said anything. But Burt knew. It had been time.

Then Kurt fell. He'd clearly been trying to find balance and it hadn't worked. Burt ran. Kurt wasn't talking. He wasn't crying either, but he wasn't talking. Burt wrapped his hand around the boy's cheek. He could already see the elbow of that thankfully not-one-of-Kurt's-expensive jackets turning red.

"Are you ok?" he got out. Kurt nodded for a moment, then shook his head. The boy was shaking. "What hurts?" The elbow, of course. Kurt rubbed at his leg, then his ankle. "Can you walk?"

"Yes." Burt leaned back as his son kicked the bike away from himself and started to get up. He didn't get very far. "I can!"

"It's ok, you're ok. You did really well Kurt." He reached out to offer himself as support. The seven year old rejected him. "Kurt, let me help you." His son pulled his bike up and leaned on that. "Kurt!" Kurt started walking towards the house. Burt grabbed the back of the bike. This silent treatment was not going to fly. "Why are you mad at me?"

"You let go!"

"I let go because you were riding! I couldn't keep up with you! You didn't need me Kurt!" The boy stopped as the words came out. "You were doing it. You were riding. All on your own."

"I fell."

"Everyone falls."

"I failed!"

"You didn't fail! You fell! And you're going to get back on the bike tomorrow and you're going to ride circles around those boys. Because?"

"No one messes with a Hummel."

"No one messes with a Hummel." Burt brushed his son's hair out of his face to get another good look at him. "Come on, let me get you inside and get you cleaned up."

"Can we make brownies for Mom afterwards?"

"Sure son. She should be home in a little bit. Should we put frosting on it?"

"She loves frosting." He held Burt's arm a little tighter. "Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"When did you learn to ride a bike?"

"Ah, well, I was about your age, most kids are. Somewhere between five and eight usually. And. I fell. A lot. I mean a lot. I'm not saying you will. You're more graceful than me. But everyone falls. Even me. But every time I fell I got back out there and tried again."

"Can we go biking together sometime?"

"Sure. All three of us?"

"Yes!" Kurt's head tilted to press up against Burt's arm. "I want to be just as good as you. And just as strong too."

"You will be." Burt wasn't about to dash the kid's hopes in being like himself. Kurt was too much like his mother. Which meant he was already so much stronger in ways Burt never would be. The good ways to be strong.

He stepped around the bike to offer his full support to Kurt. Sure the boy could make it on his own. He'd proved that. But he wasn't ready to let go just yet. He still needed his daddy.


End file.
